


Teach Me

by Michaela_Lala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaela_Lala/pseuds/Michaela_Lala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of motivation and out of energy to fight the life he lives, Castiel tends to wander. On one such occasion he finds a man full of life and passion, and finds himself drawn to his music in a way he can't explain. "Teach me," he says. "Teach me how to love music again." AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Angel

Rule number one: it isn’t good music until it means something.

“Castiel! Hurry up!” Castiel recognized the demanding and impatient voice of Zachariah coming from inside the practice room.  
“Coming,” the level of his voice rose, but nothing about his gravely monotone was lost. He slid his guitar pick into the secure hold of his electric’s strings. He closed and snapped shut the case and snagged his lyric sheet on the way out.  
“Hey Cas, wait up,” Cas stopped suddenly just outside the threshold of Anna’s green room. “Are you ready for this?”  
Cas looked over her shredded crop top and scarlet bra, black skinny jeans, and studded boots, lifting a silently judgmental eyebrow.  
“I’m testing it out, okay?” she sighed, tucking her drumsticks in front of each protruding hipbone. “I’m fading into the background of this stupid group. Wasn’t I supposed to be the ‘angel’ in the band name?”  
“It’s not stupid, Anna.”  
“It is, and you know it,” she repeated firmly. “Come on, we gotta go.” They shuffled as quietly as they could to the backstage area, trying not to be noticed.  
“…with her all the time, it just turns him into an insubordinate prick.”  
“I just wish that fag would think about how his choices affect the rest of us.”  
“You know Castiel thinks about no one but himself and Anna.”  
“Raphael, Zachariah. How’s the sound,” Castiel deadpanned, electing to ignore the conversation he’d clearly overheard.  
“Fine,” Zachariah replied curtly. “Plug in your electric, keep the electric on standby since we probably won’t use it.”  
“I don’t even know why you keep that thing,” Raphael groaned.  
“I remember the plan,” Cas muttered under his breath as he went to follow his leader’s order. He could hear the low chanting of the crowd on the other side of the curtain. He sighed, dreading the next two hours.

 

“Good night, Chicago!” Zachariah’s stage voice was disconcerting to those who knew him—Anna in particular. She visibly cringed at his false smile and his moronic professionalism. Sweat dripped down Castiel’s back and he held his pose until the lights bowed downward and blinked off, and the four of them hurried offstage.  
“Anna, you have no rhythm. Don’t you think that’s just a little bit important for the drummer to have?” Zachariah began. “And your clothes are unsightly. You just look like a slut. You’d better get your act together or your apparently useless bass drum will meet an untimely end.”  
“And you, Castiel! Where to begin? You started late, you ended late, and you kept dozing off during the third number. What’s wrong with you?” Raphael joined in. Castiel gritted his teeth. He just had to keep his tail between his legs and his head down until they both simmered down.  
All he had to do was stay quiet and abide them.  
"I am sick of hearing you abuse him! Cas works harder than either of you, and he’s more talented too! Y’know what, Zach? You can take your rhythm, and you can take your shitty music, and you can take my stupid drum set, and you can stuff it all up your shimmering pansy ass because I am out. Good luck.” She shoved both drumsticks into her right hand and on her way out of the green room, slammed them into the doorframe, shattering the wood into splinters. The door slammed shut and there was silence.  
“We already have dozens of acceptable backup drummer prepared to replace the whore. We have an indie show in Kansas next week. It’s not all that important but you’d better start practicing,” Zachariah told them without batting an eyelash. “What are you looking at, Castiel?”  
“You, but it’s nothing to worry about,” Castiel’s eyebrows scrunched. He turned on his heel, grabbing his duffel and guitar case. He chose to leave his electric guitar on the bus, depositing it and his duffel before heading out again.  
Acoustic slung onto his back, trench coat collar and sunglasses firmly in place, and enough cash for Starbucks and a burger, Cas ventured out into Chicago. He wandered a while, finishing his meal and eventually coming to a stop at the opening to a park. He sat, finding his guitar and brushing his fingers across the strings. He did this as often as he could manage—but nothing ever seemed to come out. At some point he would get self-conscious and start strumming bits of the band’s songs. It had been years since his last surge of creativity. He had been sucked dry.  
His fingers danced over the tune of the most tolerable of their songs. Metal music wasn’t particularly Castiel’s forte, but turning the bad music into more tolerable acoustic versions kept him practicing like Zachariah had commanded. He started humming, tongue starting to form the silhouette of words, but never quite letting them take shape. Zachariah used to write their music, and even Cas knew that every word was plastic—completely and utterly fake. He knew in his heart that what he sang and played was empty and hollow, but what else was he supposed to do?  
He sighed, slipping the guitar pick back into the strings of his instrument and slid it around to its spot between his shoulder blades. He sat alone in the greenery, knowing that this was his life; no matter how wrong it felt. 

 

The amount of sheer vegetation in Lawrence, Kansas surprised Castiel. He had expected lots of dirt, lots of brick, and a metric load of nothing else. When they arrived at their venue to see people happily bustling about, surrounded by trees and shrubs and grass, everyone but Zachariah looked impressed.  
“This is amazing, don’t you think?” the new drummer, Samandriel, supposed aloud. “I always thought Kansas was dry and boring.”  
“Most of it is,” Castiel replied dully and firmly. He hefted his duffel over his shoulder and slunk into the apparently well-known bar where they’d be performing.  
The place actually wasn’t too bad. The lighting fell a little low, making it seem like it was filled with smoke, though the air was dry and clean. A girl a bit younger than Castiel sped around the tables, wiping them off and taking the glasses away. She saw him looking and flashed a toothy smirk before straightening her back and walking back to the bar. Her shirt covered her ribcage, but it didn’t quite reach over her bellybutton piercing. He sighed, and followed the other three to the bar.  
“Ellen?”  
“That’d be me,” an older woman, clearly strong and firm, stopped the rag in her hand and turned. “You’re Angel?”  
“That’d be us,” Zachariah retorted. “Where do we put our things?”  
“On the floor, I’d imagine,” the girl from earlier snorted. Ellen gave her a look and she shuffled back to her job with a few low grumbles.  
“My daughter, Jo. She’s right though, we ain’t got no fancy green room for you boys, so you’ll have to make do. I can rope off an area next to the platform for your things and keep an eye on them until the show so you can wander. There’s a good coffee place about a half mile thataway,” she gestured vaguely to her left. “Always lookin’ for some business.”  
“Noted,” Zachariah spat with an audible roll in his eyes. “The gear will be safer in the car, so put it back,” he turned to his band mates.  
Samandriel’s jaw flew open. “But we just took all of it out,” he complained.  
In a flash, Zachariah’s hand was twisted into Samandriel’s shirt and restricting his breathing. “Put. It. Back.” Samandriel nodded frantically and scrambled back to the bus with the amps at his feet as soon as he was released.  
“We’ll be back,” Raphael told Ellen on his way to following Zachariah out the door. Castiel stayed and helped Samandriel, and once all of it was packed he went back to The Roadhouse and waved Samandriel away.  
“Scotch,” he replied to Ellen’s raised eyebrows.  
“Your friends are… y’know, friendly,” she scoffed.  
“Zachariah is many things, but friendly is certainly not a word I’d use to describe him,” Castiel replied, a little confused.  
“Sarcasm, sweetheart. If you don’t like him, why do you stick around?” she slid the glass over to him and flipped her towel over her shoulder.  
He mulled the question over for a moment, and downed the drink in one gulp. “He’s a cousin of mine. Almost like an older sibling; son of my father’s brother. Never expected him to be pleasant, coming from that bloodline.”  
“Your life, I guess. Where you stand among band ranks?”  
“I’m normally at the bottom, but I believe Samandriel has temporarily taken that role. But he’ll climb over me in due time,” he shrugged dismissively.  
“That’s a downright shame. Well sweetie, it’s a downright gorgeous day, and I’m of the humble opinion that you could use some sunshine, so I’m kickin’ you out. Not to mention I have a gig to set up. Go walk around and grab a bite somewhere else. That scotch is on me,” she grabbed the glass away and began wiping it down.  
“Thank you,” he slid her coaster away and walked outside. Ellen hadn’t been lying; the weather was good. The air wasn’t too dry and the sun wasn’t too bright. Cas shoved his hands in his pockets and picked a direction to walk in.  
Lawrence actually seemed pleasant to Cas. He liked the orderly lines of matching brick buildings lining the street, and the quiet hum of life running through the citizens bustling about. Cas found himself window shopping halfheartedly, running a lazy eye over hats and tailored suits and browsing a used book store, only emerging a well-loved edition of Shakespeare’s Othello. He thumbed the worn pages in his pocket and stared around, looking for a place to sit and read.  
He found a bench and set himself down on it, opening up to his favorite act. He glanced over the passages and found himself smiling a little at Desdemona’s naivety and began mouthing the song he had memorized so long ago.

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree.  
Sing all a green willow  
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,  
Sing willow, willow, willow  
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans  
Sing willow, willow, willow  
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones  
Willow, willow, willow

Cas sighed and closed the book. He let his head rest on the back of the bench, listening to the sounds of the town and letting himself drift. It felt like a weight off his chest to not think. He didn’t feel directionless, worthless; he didn’t feel anything at all—and that was the greatest relief.  
It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours, but Cas jerked upward at the sound of a loud strum on a guitar. Rubbing his eyes, he followed the sound with his eyes. They fell upon a black-stained wood guitar with a light blue Kansas license plate sticker placed neatly to the body. The man playing it rocked back and forth like a boat on the sea, either oblivious to the stares around him or totally uncaring.  
“Take a load off, Annie, take a load for free. Take a load off Annie, and you put the load right on me,” he belted, smiling to himself. Cas readjusted himself to watch better, and did so for a while.  
“Are you one of the fans?” Cas jerked at the voice clearly addressing him.  
“Fans? Oh, of him?” Cas nodded to the guitarist. “No, I’m just visiting Lawrence. Is he that popular?”  
The man, immense and kind-faced, sat next to Cas on his bench. He carried two coffees, steaming hot, and had a grocery bag on his arm. His rich brown hair reached his shoulders with a bit of an outward flip, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a day or two. “He thinks so. He does have a few people who like him, but he’s mostly just disturbing the peace,” the man laughed as if enjoying an inside joke. “Sam, by the way.”  
“Castiel,” Cas answered. He saw a brief look of surprise, then of disbelief, then of quiet acceptance cross Sam’s face and returned to the man across the street.  
“His name’s Dean Winchester,” Sam informed him. “He’s a dweeb and kind of a dick, but everyone around here knows who he is.” Cas pondered that in comfortable silence. Sam sipped slowly at his coffee and occasionally glanced at Cas like he was waiting for some kind of response. Instead, Castiel checked his watch.  
“I need to get going.” He stood.  
“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Sam stayed sitting.  
“You as well.”  
Sam looked away to put down the coffees in his hands, but when he looked back, Castiel was gone without a trace in sight.


	2. Lawrence

Othello drumming against his side nervously, Castiel paced quickly backstage. Zachariah and Raphael hadn’t returned yet, and Samandriel was in desperate need of their technical expertise. Castiel had already been out to the bar area once, and it was starting to get noisy, so he felt a little more than hesitant to go out and check with Ellen a second time. But one look at the panicking kid made up his mind. He tossed his book to the side and shoved away the curtain that Ellen had made Jo put up once people began filtering in. He made his way to the bar.  
“We start in twenty minutes, have you heard from them?”  
“Not a peep, Sweetie,” Ellen replied firmly.  
“Maybe you and Rico the Chihuahua there should come up with a backup plan,” Jo chuckled. Castiel scrunched his eyebrows at her. She sighed and openly gestured to the stage, where Samandriel was poking his trembling head out onstage.  
“We have nothing prepared,” Castiel hissed through gritted teeth.  
“You’re still payin’, even if there ain’t no show,” Ellen pointed a glass at him accusingly and walked away to a call on the other end of the bar.  
Cas groaned and looked out at the crowd. People were beginning to notice him, and many seemed to be struggling to decide whether or not to approach him. He took the opportunity to pour himself a shot of tequila and it vanished down his throat. Swallowing the burning drink and half-jogging back to Samandriel, his mind raced.  
“We’ll have to do this ourselves.”  
“WHAT? You’re joking, right?” Samandriel blurted a little too quickly.  
“You can sing, right?”  
“A little, but I don’t have a guitar of my own. Can you even play drums?”  
“No. But I have two guitars.”  
Samandriel chewed his lip. After a moment of anxious fidgeting, he let out a muffled scream of frustration. “Fine. What kind of chords do you need?”  
After a lot of sound checks and irritation, they were ready. Their leaders still hadn’t returned, so Castiel and Samandriel walked onstage alone, and feeling like falling apart.  
A ripple of excitement and confusion wound its way around the small crowd. Castiel licked his lips and started a buildup on his electric guitar. He let his feet carry him to rear stage and Samandriel stepped forward to the microphone. His fingers on Castiel’s acoustic guitar strummed harmonies, and when he began to sing, the tune quieted.

It makes no difference where I turn  
I can't get over you and the flame still burns  
It makes no difference, night or day  
The shadow never seems to fade away

Castiel started his backup and fell into rhythm at the microphone.

And the sun don't shine anymore  
And the pain falls down on my door—

Castiel froze, a flat sound echoing awkwardly in the spacious bar. His voice had broken. He’d gotten the lyrics wrong. He’d played the wrong note. Samandriel’s playing screeched to a halt and he glared at Castiel with piercing eyes. Cas’s breathing quickened. His arms dropped and he stared out at the expectant faces of every fan in the room. Heart thumping in his chest so loud he was sure they could hear it through the microphone, he found Ellen at the back of the room, letting something overflow out of a shot glass. His hyperventilation accelerated at the sight of Jo’s furrowed brow, expression slightly worried and shell-shocked. She whispered something to Ellen and the older woman shrugged, face equally surprised. She finally noticed her overfull shot and started wiping it up, pouring a new shot and sliding it to a man across the counter with what looked like an apology.  
A man whom Castiel recognized with a painful jolt.  
Zachariah didn’t seem angry, which only seemed to make Cas sick. Raphael, sitting next to him and sipping a beer, had a smirk on his face in obvious enjoyment of Castiel’s apparent humiliation. Cas felt his breathing slow and catch and he was thrown violently into a fit of coughing and shaking. He fell to his knees, ignoring the crash of his guitar against the stage. He looked back up at Zachariah, who just smiled and tipped his glass to him before downing the shot.  
Yellow sparks clouded Castiel’s darkening vision. People began muttering to each other but Cas couldn’t focus enough to hear what they said. Every sound felt like a shriek in his ear. He spotted a bit of dark red jumping onstage and then stiff warmth wrapped around his waist and shoulders, making his sweaty t-shirt stick to his bare skin. Three indiscernible spoke to each other in a rush. They escorted him offstage and placed him in a corner with limbs beginning to convulse out of his control. His throat felt stiff, like he had been swallowing for hours.  
“Cas, listen, you need to snap out of it,” the woman’s voice said soothingly. “No one’s watching anymore.”  
“Come with me,” one of the male voices said to her. “We’ll do some damage control.”  
“Alright.” The sounds of their footsteps fell in time to the pounding in Castiel’s ears. He tried to swallow.  
Someone opened a water bottle. “Can you drink?” Cas shook his head. “Alright. Breathe easy, okay? In through your nose and out through your mouth, got it?” Tears streamed down Castiel’s face. He tried to follow the man’s directions and breathe, but it just got caught in his throat. He coughed and shook his head and choked on any semblance of words he could try to form.  
“Look, look, it’s okay. It’s alright. No one’s judging you or, like, trying to do anything to you. You’re safe, okay?” the voice soothed awkwardly. “Everything’s okay.”  
Castiel clung to his own steamy clothing and tried to stop sobbing. It took minutes—though it seemed like hours— for his breathing to clear up. Once it did, Cas inhaled and exhaled shakily. His apparent babysitter held a bottle of water to his lips and helped him drink.  
“Hey, Ellen wants to talk to you,” the first male voice reentered. “Better hurry, she’s really pissed,” he huffed.  
“Son of a…” the second voice grumbled. “Stay with him, would you?”  
“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” A bit of loud clunking and shuffling followed, and eventually Cas opened his eyes. His vision refocused, and he wiped crusted tears and gunk from his face and eyes. He wished silently for some kind of food—a burger from McDonald’s would have been fantastic. He looked up and recognized the man he’d met on the street, Sam, keeping him company within the darkness of backstage.  
“Doing alright?”  
Cas coughed the phlegm out of his throat. “I’m…” he debated on word choice, “…fine. What happened?”  
“Your friend Anna did some disaster control. It’ll be fine.”  
“I’m sorry to be of so much trouble. Could you help me up?”  
Sam reached his hand down to meet Castiel’s, and pulled the much shorter man up. Dwarfed by the giant man, Cas moved away quickly—too quickly, according to his brain, and the sudden blackness clouding his sight. He stumbled and clung to Sam’s forearm instinctively.  
“I’m fine,” Cas shook the black away. He noticed his grip on Sam’s arm and released it. “Thank you for your arm. It was very helpful in regaining my balance.”  
“Uh… no problem. I guess,” Sam lifted an eyebrow. Castiel peeked around the curtain and found himself faced directly with an argument between Anna and Zachariah.  
“You’ll be paying for this show yourself if you want to keep defending him! He made a fool of me and of the entire line of our affiliates! We’ll be the laughingstock of everyone in modern day rock because of that useless fuckwit!” Zachariah poked her sternum dangerously. “Naturally, he’ll bear some consequences, but you’ll have to be the prologue.”  
She grabbed his wrist and turned it away from her with a pop. “I don’t have to hear this from you anymore,” she growled. “I won’t listen to your high horse bullshit and I won’t tolerate you beating on Castiel any more. You’re going to pay for everything you’ve done to me, but you’re going to pay for what you done to him with interest.” Castiel decided it was time to correct her.  
“Anna.” Anna’s furious disposition dissolved at Castiel’s voice. “Stop. I’m fine.”  
“The hell you’re fine. You just had a damn seizure because of this… this—!” she ground out.  
“Anna. I said I was fine. Leave it alone.”  
“But he—”  
“Go.”  
She huffed a deep breath and released Zachariah’s wrist. She flung it away and shoved Zachariah as hard as she could. He barely budged.  
Anna approached Castiel with a look of frustration, knowing he was angry and hurt and scared. But she also knew from experience that this was his choice. She hesitantly rested her hand on the curve where his neck met his shoulder, kissed his cheek, and left the stage, walking briskly out of the empty bar and into the streets of Lawrence.  
“Don’t think telling that cunt to go will make it any easier on you,” Zachariach growled menacingly. Without warning, he curled his hand into a fist and thrust it deep into Castiel’s gut. As Castiel bent over, he drove his elbow into the younger man’s nose, and shoved a knee into his gut. Castiel fell to the ground, but showed no sign of being in pain. Zachariah began kicking him anywhere he could, landing at least four before anyone said anything/  
“HEY!” Cas heard Ellen’s voice from the back of the bar.  
“Stop it!” Jo yelled defiantly.  
As Zachariah pulled his foot back for another round, a hand pushed him away.  
“Take a step back,” Sam glowered in a low voice. “Cool it.”  
“This doesn’t concern you,” Zachariah spat.  
“It does, in fact,” Sam returned. “And I suggest you take your damn pride and move it somewhere else.”  
Zachariah wrenched Sam’s hand of his shoulder and jumped off the stage. He kicked over of tables and chairs, sending them flying. He grabbed his guitar case from by the entrance and slammed the door behind him.  
As soon as he left, Zachariah’s effect wore off. The little energy left in Castiel’s body shattered, and he let his muscles relax. He wrapped his arms around his head, sheltering his face from the lights. Sam jumped from the stage and onto the house floor, shaking himself as if it were getting Zachariah’s presence off him. He put a comforting hand on Castiel’s knee, giving him a look as if to apologize.  
“What happened to Samandriel?” Cas finally asked.  
“Something about too much drama, I think,” Sam chuckled. “He’s probably terrified of sticking around.”  
“He should have stuck around,” Cas sighed. “Now it’ll just be worse when Zachariah finds him.” He took a deep breath and released it in a puff, jumping off the stage and stretching his aching muscles. “I think it’s time to get a motel room and some sleep.”  
“Try the one a couple blocks south. It’s alright for a motel,” Sam smiled.  
“Thanks.”  
“Sammy, time to go! You start classes day after tomorrow!” a man called from across the bar. Confused and curious about the familiar voice, Cas followed it and found himself looking at the one and only Dean Winchester he’d been watching not two hours previously.  
“Yeah, I’m coming!” Sam replied. Cas stared at him expectantly. “Didn’t I tell you?”  
“Tell me…?”  
Sam laughed a little and held out his hand for a shake. “Name’s Sam Winchester, nice to meet you. Have you met my brother, Dean?”  
Cas’s jaw dropped.


	3. Big Plans for That Fish

The Winchesters were gone the next day.

Ellen said they had taken Dean’s car to Stanford, where Sam would be starting school for the second time round. When Castiel tried to ask about the first attempt, she frowned and said it wasn’t her place to say. He hadn’t pried any further and figured he’d never know, so he just ordered a sandwich and a Coke and decided to sit around and wait.  
Around lunchtime, he received a text message from Zachariah.

 _BUS AND NEW DRUMMER IN 4 DAYS. MEET AT 9A OR BE LEFT BEHIND._

Castiel shut his phone and sighed, earning a curious look from Jo.  
“Trouble in paradise, Angel-Boy?” she flipped her ever-present rag over her shoulder and propped her chin on the bar.  
“I’ll be here until the end of the week,” he replied evenly. “I wasn’t expecting to stay.”  
“Why don’t you call up your girlfriend and go out tonight? You’re staying in a motel, too, so you guys would have a good time, if you know what I mean,” she replied, waggling her eyebrows.   
Castiel looked at her blankly.  
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”  
“Then who’s that pretty redhead?”  
“Oh, you must mean Anna,” Cas reasoned, considering her role as the only red haired girl he knew. “I suppose you could call her a friend. And since she’s female…” Cas took a pause. “I guess you could also call her a girlfriend. But I don’t ‘know what you mean’ about the motel,” he took a sip of his cola.  
“You’re hopeless,” Jo chuckled. She snatched the pickle spear from his basket of food and munched on it. “Maybe you can do tomorrow’s open mic night,” she pondered aloud, mouth full of pickle.  
“Clearly I’m not suited for that.”  
“Then go out and perform like Dean does.”  
“Is that any better?”  
She swallowed. “Well…” Jo shrugged. “You can always just sit around and mope, and then when you have to leave, you can go back to your miserable band and get beat up after every show.”  
“That seems to be the most realistic option,” Cas pondered.  
Jo groaned. “Fine,” she held her hands up. “It’s your life.” She hurried away to bus more tables.  
Cas thought about it, and after about a minute, decided to call Anna. She picked up after three rings, sounding out of breath.  
“Hello?”  
“Anna.”  
“Cas!” She exclaimed, her tone high with enthusiasm. “Hey, are you still in Lawrence?”  
“We have another show at the end of the week. The bus comes in four days.”  
“Oh, so you have time then! Meet me at the antique store off Shoreline and West Cannon!”  
“Why?”  
“Just do it,” the line cut off.  
Cas looked up, eyebrows knitted with confusion. His eyes wandered the bar before he peered up at Ellen from under his brow. She was watching him discretely and lifted her chin up as he caught her eye.  
“Ellen, can you tell me where Shoreline and West Cannon meet?

 

“Hey!”  
Cas heard her voice ten minutes after arriving. Anna wore jogging pants of a murky gray-green color and a ripped white t-shirt, hanging off one shoulder over a white sports bra. Her hair was tied up in messy ponytail, a water bottle in her hand, and sweat stained her armpits and hairline. “Sorry for making you wait,” she breathed heavily. “I was a mile and a half that way,” she jabbed her thumb behind her.  
“Why this place?” Cas asked, clearly intrigued. His eyes scoured the surroundings. “I never would have guessed you for an antiques fan.”  
“I was in here yesterday, and I saw something really cool!”  
Cas just looked at her quizzically. She just laughed and grabbed his wrist, dragging him inside the yellowing stucco store.  
“See, look!” Anna pointed to a pair of paintings hanging on one wall.  
They weren’t something Castiel would have noticed had they not been pointed out to him. One depicted a fish with legs crawling out of the water, like a lizard or a salamander. The other showed a person running off a cliff, with the ocean stirring calmly below. The two smaller paintings were framed together, with plaques under each one, just big enough for one sentence each.   
“Don’t touch that fish, my friend. Big plans for that fish,” Castiel read out loud.  
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Anna cooed, looking up at him with eyes full of wonder.  
“It makes no sense,” Cas shook his head.  
“Too obscure for you?” she giggled. “It’s about the evolution of humanity.”  
“I suppose,” he replied vaguely, as if humoring a child.

Despite Cas’s efforts, they remained in the shop. Anna pointed out teapots and old hats, saying that even the most mundane items held great importance and carry the most history. Cas argued, saying that no material object can hold a story, and that every object in the store was merely something the previous owner had chosen to discard.  
By 4 o’clock, they finally circled back to the front of the store. Anna yawned, making a quiet squeaking noise. She’d undone her ponytail hours before, but continued to run her fingers through her hair.  
After _finally_ leaving, much to Cas’s relief, they walked along the main shopping street of the town; mostly window-shopping. Occasionally they’d dive into a music store or a used book store, peering at collections of retro albums, finding the new and upcoming artists in the chart and flicking through pages of old books; the binding torn and frayed. It was only at 7:30 that they realized they hadn’t eaten. In addition to his own bag, containing a copy of The Hobbit and a little bag of stiff guitar picks, Cas carried Anna’s bag of Great Expectations and a pair of turquoise earrings, with a matching necklace, strung over his arm. Anna chortled loudly as they strolled back in the direction of their separate motels as she put a hand on his shoulder, trying to kill her laughter.   
“This was a good afternoon, Cas,” she wiped her eyes. “You know how to show a girl a good time.”  
“I’m glad you had fun,” he nodded, with a slight smile.  
“Hey…” she stopped walking. Cas continued, but stopped two steps ahead of her. Turning to face her, his brow furrowed at her suddenly serious expression.  
“Are we friends?” She asked.  
Castiel paused. _What a peculiar question…_  
“Definitely.”  
“Have we ever been anything more?” Anna’s eyes widened as she took a step closer to him.  
“More than friends?” Cas repeated. She nodded. He looked away thoughtfully. “I couldn’t say.”  
“Have you thought about that possibility?”  
Anna ticked her head to the side slightly and waited.  
“I can’t say I have,” Cas muttered.  
Almost immediately and with some kind of stealth, Anna moved herself into Cas and, on her tiptoes, grabbing his collar and pulling him down, pressed her lips onto his. He didn’t react, whether it was shock or displeasure was unknown to both people. Cas couldn’t help feeling out of place, like he wasn’t supposed to be here, with her. His mind was frozen, but he felt like this was wrong. When she pulled away, she squinted at him as if trying to read his thoughts.  
“I—Uh,” Anna spluttered. “Yeah. I’ll see you.” She spun on her heel.  
Cas blinked, watching her hurry away with her shoulders hunched, head down, and her hands in her back pockets. Mind still reeling and feeling like he’d kissed his sister, he wandered back to his motel.   
The next day Cas spent in his room, catching up on much-needed sleep and watching more than his fair share of terrible daytime television. Whenever he got thirsty he’d go out to the motel courtyard, grab a can of Coke from the vending machine, and retreat back to his room. On the one occasion he got hungry, he bought a few dollars worth of snacks from the same machine, which weren’t exactly rabbit food: a bag of potato skins, a package of strawberry Pop-tarts, and a Butterfinger bar. They sated his hunger, and he continued his study in solitude.  
That evening, Cas went out to the courtyard one last time before he went to bed and as he walked back with a Sprite—no more caffeine for a while he thought— he heard the splutter of what sounded like a reasonably old car. Cas peeked his head around the corner toward the noise. He gazed on the sleek black body of a well-kept Chevrolet, probably forty years old at the youngest. A tallish figure strode out of the vehicle, stretching his arms over his head.  
With the lighting of the late evening, Cas only picked out his silhouette and his stature, along with the plaid pattern of his shirt. He seemed built, and his shoulders were fairly broad. His shoulder blades were prominent even through the flannel shirt. As he grabbed things out of the back seat of his car, Cas noticed the stranger walked with a sort of waddle, like he’d had a limp once or he walked with his toes pointed outward. At this, Cas shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. He went back to his room to finish the episode he was watching, and went to bed about half an hour later.  
The next morning, Cas woke up knowing he’d have to leave his room. He had less than two days in Lawrence, and he had no idea when he’d have the chance to talk to Anna after they both left town. He tugged on a pair of dark acid-washed jeans he’d promised his agent he’d promote. He threw a light blue collared shirt over a grey t-shirt, buttoning the third button. Sticking his hands through the sleeves of his trench coat, he left the motel room lethargically.  
He had called her twice the day before, with no reply. Cas was _anything_ but an expert at relationships, but he wasn’t stupid. He felt as embarrassed as she did. But he also knew where she was staying, and he hoped she hadn’t left yet with all his being. Even with this kind of tension between the two of them, Cas cared about Anna more than he cared about even himself.  
Anna’s hotel was significantly cleaner than the rank motel Cas was paying for. He definitely could have stayed here, but he’d decided to keep his living costs as low as possible after the mess he’d made at the Roadhouse.  
This hotel had complimentary breakfast, individual heating and air conditioning, a fitness center, wireless internet—the whole package. There were trees out front with carefully landscaped hedges and flowers and grass that Cas was sure should not have been growing in a land-locked and drought-ridden state like Kansas. Even the inside was over the top with its potted plants and overpowering smell of coffee and cookies so it would seem as welcoming and calm as possible.  
No amount of calming scents would put the man at ease. Cas anxiously stared at one spot on the beige wallpaper of the hallway and waited for Anna to answer her door.  
She didn’t disappoint him. She looked through the peephole and opened the door slowly, looking down. Her hair was pulled up again, into a much neater bun. She wore a white blouse that buttoned in the front. When she turned around and led him into the room, Cas notced light grey patterns on adorning the shoulders of the shirt. The seaming curved into an hourglass shape and let to a pair of tight-fitting but apparently comfortable light blue jeans.  
“Anna, I wanted to talk to you.”  
“I know, I got your messages.” She said sharply, turning around. “By the way, you’re supposed to leave a message _after_ the tone.”  
Cas smirked. “Sorry,” he opened his mouth to continue, but stopped when he realized that he didn’t know what to say.  
After a moment of stiff silence, Anna let out a frustrated breath.  
“Look, I don’t know what I was thinking. I think that right now I'm just grasping for some kind of way out of being lonely, and you were the only one with a hand anywhere _near_ reaching toward me. But the last thing I wanted was to make things awkward between us.”  
“I wanted to tell you that I don’t think of you as anything more than a very close friend,” Cas replied. “I love you as if you were my family.”  
“I know,” she smiled up at him. “And I'm happy with that.” She held out her arms and hugged him even when he didn’t respond.  
“When do you leave town?” he asked her.  
“I was actually just packing up. Check out’s at eleven.”  
“Do you need help?”  
“I don’t really have much,” she smiled sheepishly. “Just a couple sets of clothes and, like, four hundred pairs of drumsticks.”  
He snorted. “I’ll carry your bag.”

 

Watching Anna disappear in her rented Toyota was like watching his hope drain away.

He knew that without her, Zachariah would beat him into the ground. After the debacle at the Roadhouse, Castiel would need to do a lot of brown nosing to get back to a semi-respectable position. Until then, he had no choice but to take the beatings.  
As he walked from the hotel parking lot back to the Roadhouse for a decent breakfast, he debated not returning to Angel the next day, and just staying in Lawrence. He liked to entertain the thought, even though he would never do it. After everything his father had done to get him into such a successful and popular group, Castiel couldn’t go back on his promise to make it big. No matter what Zachariah threw at him, he wouldn’t break his word.  
Not that his father ever really did anything for _him_ , but…  
Castiel shook the thought out of his head. He stuck his hands in his trench coat pockets and kept his head down.  
The pounding sound of bass through a car speaker brought him out of a rather tranquil silence. Cas sighed and kept walking, only to find that it got louder with his every step. Eventually he passed a car parked on the side of the main road, with a pair of denim-clad legs hanging awkwardly out of the window.  
Overwhelmingly curious, Cas stepped toward the sound of someone trying to sing over the incredibly loud music.  
He was shocked to find Dean Winchester, the elusive performer brother of Sam, with closed eyes, lying on his back in the front seat of his car. His eyes were pinched closed and his arms were crossed and pumping, like a bad interpretation of a drummer. He essentially screamed the lyrics to Carry on my Wayward Son, evidently lost in the sound. Cas just lifted an eyebrow quizzically. It took Dean longer than Cas imagined for him to notice the silent man’s presence. It wasn’t until he accidentally kicked Cas’s arm that he looked up at all.  
“Can I help you?” Dean lifted his eyebrows as he turned the music down.  
“Dean Winchester, correct?”  
“That’s me,” Dean replied irritably. “Do you _want_ something?”  
“Well,” Cas actually wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to say in the first place. “Thank you, I suppose. For the other night.”  
“Wait that was you?” Dean seemed genuinely surprised. “I was a little plastered.”  
“Well thank you, regardless. It was very kind of plastered-you.”  
“I’ll make sure I let plastered-me know.”  
“Do you listen to other Kansas songs?”  
“Huh?” Dean took a second to catch up. “Oh. Nah, it’s just that one. It’s kind of a classic, y’know?”  
“You know the story, right? The premise of the song?”  
“The prodigal son,” Dean nodded like it was obvious. “Everyone knows that.”  
“I just thought it was ironic, I guess.”  
“What?”  
“Nevermind. Thanks again,” Cas waved and continued on his way to lunch. “What a strange man,” he muttered to himself and sighed dejectedly.  
As Cas rounded a final corner and turned into the Roadhouse, he prepared to try and enjoy his last day in Lawrence without the unholy reign of Angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks soooo much to my lovely friend Holly for looking this over for me! ily gurl  
> She is writing an AMAZING destiel fic called The Morning Rain and you guys should seriously read it I'm in love


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